DAVID MURDOCK: On curiosity

Sunday

Jan 28, 2018 at 1:01 AM

By David MurdockSpecial to The Times

I think I’ve reached a personal “tipping point,” one of those places in life where things are different from what they were, and where one is intensely aware of that difference. Most people experience many tipping points throughout life, but this one has flummoxed me in that I’m not bothered by it in any way. Things are simply different now.

One common tipping point that I’ve heard older people mention lately — I know I’ve mentioned it my share the last few columns — is that it’s cold here right now. That’s simply a matter of meteorology and no great mystery. The tipping point? I’m aware of it. Sometime in my 40s, I began to notice “cold” in a way I didn’t when I was younger. Several people my age and older have mentioned this phenomenon to me the last few weeks — it just “feels” colder at a certain age, even if the actual temperature is the same.

The particular tipping point referred to above is not a physical difference; it’s entirely a matter of attitude. Somewhere over the last little bit — I don’t know really when it started — I’ve realized that I now have more questions than answers. The difference is that I don’t think I’ll come up with any answers to those questions — and I’m OK with that. I’m content with a little mystery.

Those questions without answers are not necessarily matters of fact. As a matter of fact, it’s never been easier to find the answer to a question that is a matter of fact. If a “fact” is a bit of information that can be independently verified, it’s never been easier to ascertain matters of fact for anyone with a computer, a bit of curiosity and a dash of common sense.

Those questions are not necessarily matters of truth either, or even matters of “capital-T” Truth. Religion and philosophy exist to answer those questions, which cannot necessarily be answered quickly or completely. I still marvel when I read a Bible verse that I’ve read countless times, yet the Lord sees fit to show me a “new” way to see it. Last week, I was astounded by the philosopher Seneca as I read his brief meditation “On the Shortness of Life” — it sounded as if he were not a first-century Roman in his concerns but a 21st-century American. I suppose there are no “new” questions and answers. No, it’s not that sort of curiosity.

Nor are those questions necessarily matters of academic knowledge, either. I still joy and delight in tracking down answers there, which I will pursue with a fierceness and fervor that sometimes surprises my friends and colleagues. I will say, though, that there are some academic questions that seem to have no solid answer — we’ll just never know the answer, as a matter of solid fact.

No, the questions I’ve suddenly developed an “okay-ed-ness” with NOT being able to answer are “matters of curiosity.” Suddenly, it seems, there are lots of things it no longer bothers me NOT to know. Y’all know what I’m talking about — those questions of “well, what was that?” or “why is that?” — that sort of thing.

When I was younger, it would have burned me up to see something or hear something, not know what it was and not be able to answer the question of what it was. I had that sort of “cat-killing” curiosity that constantly consumed me. These days — instead of galumphing off to figure out a mystery of that sort — I’m likely to say “hunh” and leave it be.

The other morning as I was sitting out on the porch before the sun came up, for example, I spotted a spot in the yard that wasn’t like said spot was the morning before. It looked different. Instead of jumping right up and walking right over, I sat a spell and pondered on it. It moved. Uh-oh. Now, I had a mystery on the move in the darkest part of my yard. Then the mystery moved in such a way that the mystery answered itself — a possum.

It happened again before sunrise this morning. I was looking across the highway, across my neighbor’s pasture, into the woods near the railroad tracks. I saw a light, clear as day. It looked and moved like the lights the trains shine, but I heard no train.

I tried to figure it out for a while, turning the possibilities over and over. Unless the possums over there have bought themselves a big flashlight at the Wal-Mart and are playing pranks on each other, I have no answer to that question.

Twenty years ago, I might have hiked the half-mile over there to see what it was — but it was far too cold this morning. I’m okay with not knowing.

David Murdock is an English instructor at Gadsden State Community College. He can be contacted at murdockcolumn@yahoo.com. The opinions reflected are his own.

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